


The Story Is All That Counts

by agentx13 (rebelle_elle)



Category: Amalgam Comics, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, bucky barnes as james olsen, natasha as cat grant, nick fury as perry white, red skull as the douchelord bad guy wannabe lex luthor, rumlow as a douche henchman, sam wilson as batman if batman got therapy, sharon carter appreciation month, sharon carter as lois lane, steve rogers as clark kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6218353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelle_elle/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By day, Steve Rogers is a mild-mannered reporter at The Shield. By night (and fine, sometimes during the day, too) he fights crime as Captain America. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but now his coworker Sharon Carter has decided to uncover the truth behind Captain America. Unfortunately, her search for the truth has made her dangerous enemies.</p><p>Between Steve's crime-fighting best friend, the Falcon, and Sharon's partnership with coworkers Natasha and Bucky (only Natasha can call him James), they might just bring down the bad guys after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So way back when, Mark Waid wrote an Amalgam comic wherein Steve was Super Soldier and Sharon was Lois Lane. Not many other Marvel characters made the story, though, and the more I thought about it, the more I disliked it. HOW COULD HE NOT? THE CHARACTERS WERE RIGHT THERE. In the end, I couldn't stop thinking about it and decided to write out a story based on that universe.

Steve kept his head low where he sat at his desk, a quiet oasis in the bustling newsroom. Around him, people talked into phones, each person trying to be heard over the noise of the room and making everything that much louder. Computer keys clacked with nearly as much force as the heels of reporters hurring to and fro. It was a constant cacophony that, over time, had become comforting.

He leaned back in his seat, stretching his long legs beneath his desk. He turned in his chair in search of inspiration with some particularly difficult phrasing. Fury wasn’t going to help; he was busy in his office howling at some reporters. Steve cringed in sympathy. Nick Fury, the editor of the paper, was infamous for his temper, but he was also respected for his dedication to exposing corruption and upholding the values of truth, justice, and the American way that The Shield had been founded to protect. Steve knew he was lucky to be able to work with him.

He spun slowly and nodded to Natasha as she checked her makeup in a handheld mirror. She was dressed to the nines, her hair styled in curls, and her makeup pristine; he knew what that meant. “You’re onto something, Romanoff.”

“You _are_ a reporter, Rogers,” she responded pleasantly. “Senator. Plan on getting into his office tonight. Ought to have evidence on him tomorrow.”

“Need backup?”

Natasha’s eyes slowly moved toward the woman across Steve’s desk muttering to herself as she chewed on a pencil and glowered at the computer monitor inches from her nose. “I’ll be fine. I’ll have James with me if anything goes wrong.”

Steve nodded. Bucky - only Natasha was allowed to call him James - was good. He was one of the best photographers the paper had, and he had a right hook that could stop experienced wrestlers cold. “Good luck.”

“We make our own luck, Steve.” She grinned at him before whistling loudly. “James! Time to go.” To the surprise of no one, even over the din, Bucky’s head popped up on the other side of the room, and seconds later, he was at her side with his camera at the ready.

“You’re not gonna be here when we get back, are you, Steve?” Bucky asked, checking the camera’s settings by taking a test shot of Natasha. Bucky was perhaps the only person who was allowed to take Natasha’s picture when she was less than perfect. It was proof of her affection for him.

Steve glanced again at the woman across from him. It was no secret she’d been working on something big, but no one was sure what it was yet. And if experience had taught Steve anything, it was that as soon as she was alone, she was going to do something rash. He was here as long as she was, that was decided. “Hope not, pal.”

“Don’t be,” Natasha said firmly. “Carry her home and lock her in a closet if you have to. It’ll be good for her.”

Sharon’s head popped up at long last. “Are you guys talking about me?” she demanded.

Natasha sighed and moved to drop a kiss on top of Sharon’s head. “No, darling. We were just leaving.”

“Oh.” With that resolved, Sharon stared again at her monitor. “Have fun with your story. Don’t forget he’ll probably have Roxxon bodyguards.” 

“Never would I ever,” Natasha promised. She watched Sharon as the blonde disappeared back into her work and smiled ruefully. “Come on, James.”

An hour later, Steve was closer to finishing his story, though it was by no means to his satisfaction. He was spinning in his chair again when he felt a stress toy hit him in the back of his head.

“Rogers. I need you to set up a meeting for me with Sam Wilson.”

Steve immediately had a bad feeling. Sam Wilson was a friend of his, true, but more than that, he had worked with Sam in a more professional capacity than most people knew. Both of them had... well. Other jobs. On top of their regular jobs. It was how they had first met and how they had best gotten to know each other. Only chance had expanded their friendship to their daily lives. Not that Sharon knew how they had first become friends. If she did, Steve would have heard about it by now. From her, and loudly. No, she likely wanted to use Steve’s friendship with Sam so she could use Sam’s resources. 

Even if he hadn’t become friends with Sam, he would have known who Sam Wilson was. It had made headlines a couple years ago when Sam had returned from the war as a multi-billionaire. His partner in the military, Riley, had been extremely wealthy, with no family of his own, and had come to consider Wilson as his brother. He’d left everything to Sam, who had come back after Riley died and taken over Riley’s business, leading it into a new renaissance under the banner Redwing Enterprises.

And now Sharon was asking about him. She and Sam had met briefly from time to time - she had tried to get an exclusive at first, but Sam had shied away, saying that if he was going to give anyone an exclusive, it would be Steve. It was something else Sharon hadn’t forgiven him for. But at least she’d eventually stopped hounding Sam for an exclusive directly and had instead started asking him about his contacts in the business world. She was constantly looking for news about Schmidt, Roxxon, Victor von Doom, and Wilson Fisk. As displeased as Steve was that Sharon stuck her nose into the business of people who were so dangerous, he was almost more worried that she might be after news about Captain America, who had not only had pictures taken with Sam at a recent orphanage opening, but was also one of Sharon’s latest projects.

All Steve knew for sure was that when Sharon wanted to talk to Sam, she was going to get in trouble somehow. He didn’t think she planned it that way, but she certainly didn’t try to avoid it.

“I think he’s busy, Sharon. It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“Come on, Steve. I don’t know how you did things back home, but this is the city. No one goes to sleep here before ten.”

If she only knew the truth, he thought wryly. He was actually from Brooklyn, less than five miles from this very building, but he had lied after his escape and said he was from the Midwest. In theory, he was harder to find if people thought he was a completely different person, and it was worth it to hear people tease him so long as they didn’t uncover the truth.

“Sharon, he might have a date.”

She shrugged, already gathering her things. “He can bring her along, then. Or him. Just have him meet us at the usual place.”

Fury chose that moment to step out of his office, briefcase and coat under one arm. “You two still here?” He glared at them from his good eye - the other had been claimed by a war injury, or so Steve had heard - and then shook his head. “You would be. But go home now. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir, Sarge,” Sharon chimed in. “Steve was just taking me to meet a source.”

“Don’t call me that! And good. Rogers, keep an eye on her.” In an undertone, he added, “You know how she gets.”

“Sarge!” Sharon argued.

Fury stopped her with a finger. “Don’t. I’m going home. I advise you to wrap up that story and have it on my desk by tomorrow. In case you haven’t forgotten, we still need your story on that orphanage opening. And _spell check it first._ Rogers, your story about the surges at the power plant done yet?”

“Almost, sir,” Steve promised. He grabbed his coat and nodded to Sharon. They had to get out of here before Fury grilled them harder. Fury was an excellent editor, but sometimes his requests for updates felt more like interrogations. Steve followed her to the stairs - Fury preferred the elevator - and they didn’t speak again until they were on the street.

Sharon shivered and pulled on her coat with a little help from Steve. “So,” Sharon said, sounded too pleased with herself for her own good. “Dinner? On me.”

“And let me guess,” Steve responded sagely. “You’ll only pay if it’s Leila’s Diner.” Sharon smiled sweetly, and Steve sighed and gave in. Of course she’d only pay at Leila’s Diner. It was where they met Sam whenever she wanted something. He pulled out his cell and phoned Sam, who picked up almost immediately. Steve ignored the groan that Sharon’s name elicited, but Sam agreed to meet in twenty minutes. He hung up his phone and gave Sharon a pathetic look.

She beamed and pinched his cheek. “Knew you were good for something, Smallville. Come on.” She turned back to him as she hailed a cab. “Aren’t you cold? It’s got to be freezing out here.”

“Oh. Right.” Steve pulled on his coat even though cold weather no longer bothered him and followed her into a cab. “Guess I got caught up in things. And you know I’m not from Smallville, right?”

“You’re from someplace small,” she pointed out. “What better name for a place with a population so small it doesn’t even show up on maps?”

Had she... checked into his story? Maybe a subject change was in order. “What are you working on this time? I thought you already got a statement from Sam about the orphanage opening.”

She grinned. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“If you aren’t telling me because you think I stole your story...”

Her features instantly changed into a glare, and she sank into her seat. She ducked down, and Steve inadvertently grinned at a man on the sidewalk. “When I leave notes about a story on my desk, and the next thing I know, you’ve _broken that story,_ then it means you _stole my story,_ Steve.”

They bickered more or less amiably all the way to the diner, and Steve, as he forked over money to the cabbie, thought the cabbie looked especially glad to be rid of them. They continued arguing as she held the door open for him and they slid into the seat across from Sam. The diner was empty save for the three of them, a couple waitresses, two cooks, an old man in the corner, and a couple with two teenage sons, all of whom looked as if they’d had enough of each other. Steve and Sharon glanced around them as they spoke, sharing a look that said that if Leila Taylor, the diner’s owner, saw any of the other customers, the man would be off to a homeless shelter and the family would be getting a stern lecture about appreciating each other. They continued arguing after the silent exchange, and Sharon handed Steve a menu; she never got a menu herself, as she always knew what she wanted, but Steve had a larger appetite.

Sam watched them in silence for a couple seconds before waving a hand at them. “So this. You two seriously mean to tell me you aren’t married when you act like this.” He grinned as both Steve and Sharon immediately shut their mouths. “That’s more like it.” He inclined his head to Sharon in greeting. “Now since I doubt this is a social call, can we get down to business?”

Sharon leaned forward. “Now, Sam. You know I’m always glad to see you.”

“But I’m right,” Sam interjected easily. “Now out with it.”

Sharon grumbled but didn’t seem terribly upset as she pulled a file from her purse. “I was digging into the Captain America story-”

“Which everyone has been telling you to drop,” Steve said with an eyeroll. He met Sam’s eyes briefly in silent communication. Sharon didn’t know, and Steve didn’t _want_ her to know. He knew how she could be about breaking stories, and it would hurt him worse than the doctors’ experiments if she revealed his identity, or, even worse, got hurt because of him. Best that he and Sam try to keep her off the story entirely.

She ignored him. “-And I was thinking about what it would take to make someone like him. I mean, he has to be human. He’s been hurt in fights. He’s bled. I’ve seen it. He can’t be an alien.”

“Why, because he doesn’t fly?” Steve asked, looking at the folder a little more nervously than before. Sharon was many things, but she was also good at her job. If she thought she was onto something, she might be onto something.

“Right,” Sharon said sarcastically. “That’s exactly why. _Anyway,_ I was thinking about what it would take. The doctorates it would take. Advanced stuff. And I was right. Not many schools teach about theoretical medical and biological possibilities. But there are some possibilities at the top-ranked schools in the country, doctors who have made names for themselves by talking about the changing the human genome. I looked into them, and I’ve accounted for all but a few.”

Steve and Sam stared at her when she paused, pleased with herself.

“And?” Sam urged.

“ _And,_ ” Sharon said, “I talked to some of the classmates of the missing doctors. Several of the doctors got job offers, then said they couldn’t talk about it. One of them, though, von Strucker, boasted that he was going to work for something called Hydra. I looked it up, and Hydra does genetics testing. They’re financed primarily by Roxxon, so we know they’re not up to anything good.” She opened the folder, revealing pages of notes in her messy scrawl and blurry cell phone images she had printed out. “I think they’re creating an army of people like Captain America.”

Steve pulled a picture closer to him, a chill going down his spine. “I thought you said Captain America was a good guy.”

“He is,” Sharon insisted, her tone suggesting that she was tired of arguing with people about it. She’d been Captain America’s advocate since he’d first shown up in town. It wasn’t a coincidence - Captain America had saved her from nearly getting killed by some of the Kingpin’s goons - but if Sharon had any suspicion that Captain America couldn’t be trusted, she’d say so. She was too blunt to do anything else. “He runs around helping people, for God’s sake. No one will ever convince me he’s a bad guy. I’ve followed him ever since he first showed up. If he’s a bad guy, I’ll eat my shorts. Not actually eat- You know what I mean. He isn’t a bad guy. He’s the _last_ person who would be a bad guy.”

Steve looked at her for a moment, thinking how nice it felt to have her support even when she didn’t realize she was giving it.

He must have been staring at her too long, because Sam kicked him under the table and said, “And what do you think I can help with, exactly?”

“I want you to use your contacts to get me into a Hydra facility. And it has to be tonight. I’m on deadline.”

Sam leaned forward, his head inches from hers. “You. Are. Crazy.”

Sharon smiled. “Isn’t it great?”

Sam leaned back in his seat. “Whatever happened to you just wanting quotes about the orphanage opening? Weren’t you supposed to have that story out by now, by the way? I’ve been looking for it.”

“Working on it,” Sharon said, a little too quickly. “This story is bigger.”

“Not to those kids,” Sam argued.

Steve looked at them with alarm, and worse, he couldn’t put his finger on why he was alarmed. They were just a little too close for his comfort, that was all. And he didn’t dare try to think of why it bothered him. 

He looked past her out the window and frowned. “That’s the same man who was outside our office.” He crowded Sharon’s space to get a better look, even though he could see perfectly well from where he was.

Sharon and Sam both turned to look, and all of them took in the dark-haired man with the stubble on his chin standing against the building opposite them.

“Is he seriously wearing suspenders?” Sharon asked in disbelief. “He doesn’t _look_ like a hipster...”

“No,” Sam said, tone solemn. “Suspenders go straight down. See under his coat? How the straps cross his chest? That’s military issue. The coat’s probably to hide grenades or-” They all three watched as the man saw them, parted his coat even more, and pulled out a gun. “Or that.”

“Subtle, we are not,” Steve mused. His arm readied to wrap around Sharon. He had a good guess who the gunman’s target was. As soon as the man began shooting, he grabbed her and kicked the wall on her other side, sending them both flying onto the floor. Sam was right behind him.

He let go of Sharon as he hit the ground and looked for Sam. “Get her out the back!” He gave Sharon a shove, and as light as it was, it still got her into Sam’s arms with a speed she would have to notice.

“What the hell are you going to do?” Sharon demanded. “You sound like you’re-”

“Come on, Sharon.” Sam grabbed her hand and kept low as he ran, pulling Sharon with him.

“But he sounds like he’s going to take that guy on!” Sharon argued. “He can’t freaking think-”

Her voice was cut off when the door closed, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief. He untucked his shirt and freed the shield from underneath. He wasn’t sure what it was made of, but it had saved him from getting shot when he’d escaped the facility, and it had saved him from plenty of other dangers since.

Alone at last, Steve prepared himself for a fight.

* * *

In the back alley, Sharon had a fight of her own, twisting and turning to free herself from Sam’s grasp. “We can’t just leave him!”

“He can take care of himself, Shar-” Sam stopped and moved in front of her as he saw another man coming toward them down the alley. “Sharon? Don’t take this the wrong way, but _please_ stop pissing people off and leading them to my friend’s restaurant.”

She craned her neck around Sam, watching as the man came closer. In the darkness, she could see little more than the outline of his muscles, but as he got nearer she was able to make out more of his features. “He’s cute. Ask for his number.”

Sam tilted his head back at her in disbelief but didn’t take his eyes off the man. “Are you serious?”

“What? You’re a lonely man. Maybe he’s lonely, too.”

“Sharon, I-”

“Oh, God. Never mind.”

“What?” Sam ran his eyes over the man, who had stopped several feet away. Though his body seemed to be at ease, there was no mistaking that this man was ready to fight them. The man was muscled, and Sam could tell with a single look that the guy was an experienced fighter. He slowly eased his grip on Sharon and moved to block her with his body.

“He’s wearing orange and purple, Sam. Together. I take it back. He’s all wrong for you.”

Sam sighed and clenched his fists.

“Turn over the woman,” the man said, his voice heavily accented in French.

A wooden plank flew over Sam’s shoulder. The man dodged it with ease.

“My name is Sharon Carter,” Sharon snapped. “Not ‘the woman!’ And _no one_ turns me over.” She blinked at Sam. “Wait. Did that- That didn’t sound ri-”

He didn’t have time to tease her; he was too busy tackling her out of the way as the man leapt for her, moving faster than Sam would have thought possible. She grunted as he landed on top of her, and he left her lying there as he tried to punch their antagonist. The man blocked it, then blocked the next one as well.

“Batroc will not be so easily defeated!”

“Man, shut the hell up,” Sam said, noting that the man wasn’t having difficulty breathing despite how much he was jumping around. Better trained than Sam had thought, then. That was fine. Sam had been well-trained, too. And he recognized some of the moves. Not only that, but he knew how to counter them. He kicked low, catching the man in his knee. This time his punch made contact, and he was quick to push his advantage. Still, even with his years of training, it wasn’t until Sharon hit Batroc with the wooden plank that he stumbled long enough for Sam to knock him out cold.

He stood back, looking for something to tie the man up with. “Sharon? Who the hell did you piss off this time?”

“I’m guessing Hydra.” She didn’t seem particularly perturbed as she searched the man’s pockets. 

Just then, Steve burst through the doors, his clothes torn and his cheek red from a hit. Sam stared at the shield on full display but couldn’t catch Steve’s attention. Steve was looking for Sharon, staring at the man on the ground. “Are you two okay?” He came forward quickly, realizing belatedly that he still carried the shield. He looked at Sharon in alarm as she gaped at him and immediately tried to hide the shield behind his back.

“ _You._ ” Her voice was low, threatening. Her gaze was focused on the poorly-hidden shield. She pointed an accusing finger at him as she got to her feet.

“I can’t believe I’m friends with you,” Sam said, shaking his head. To be found out because he’d forgotten to hide his shield... 

“You sat right across from me.” Each step Sharon took toward Steve was heavy with menace. “While I tried to hunt you down and at least prove you exist. All this time. Everybody telling me to drop it, me trying to find you anyway, and all that time, you were sitting right there in front of me.” She poked his chest with a finger, her voice raising. “And you couldn’t even have the decency to let me discover it on my own? I had to find out because you forgot to hide your damn shield? You didn’t even let me work for it!”

Steve looked helplessly at Sam, but his friend was busy opening the door to a parking garage stairway. “I- I wanted to tell you.”

“Sure you did,” she said, not believing a word.

“But I couldn’t. And I didn’t mean to-”

“What, be a letdown?”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“How can I possibly write this story, Steve? ‘And then Captain America rushed out, looking as heroic as anyone in the country could hope, and soon realized he’d forgotten to maintain his secret identity. He embarrassed himself by trying to hide his shield behind him after the intrepid reporter saw it.'”

“‘Embarrassed himself?’” Steve echoed.

“What word would you use?” she countered. “‘Humiliated’ wouldn’t be a huge jump.”

Sam stuck his head out of a doorway and tapped his wrist.

Steve nodded. Sam thought they needed to go quickly, and judging by the footsteps Steve could hear coming through the kitchen, he had to agree. The man in the kitchen had been harder to fight than he’d thought, and he wasn’t looking forward to another bout with the guy when Sharon was so close by. He bent over, grabbing Sharon’s waist and throwing her over a shoulder.

“What- what the hell do you think you’re doing, Rogers?”

“Trying not to interrupt while you talk about how I humiliated myself.” He gave Sam a grumpy look as he stepped through the doorway, finding himself in a small elevator that plummetted downward as soon as the doors closed.

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN LET ME CATCH YOU!” She kicked her feet, and Steve looked at Sam over her backside. Realizing what he was looking over, he quickly turned his face straight ahead. After a moment, Sharon stopped kicking. “And now who’s being humiliated?” she huffed.

The doors slid open, and Steve followed Sam into a large room, lights flickering on overhead. Steve gently set Sharon on her feet, and they both put their fight on hold as they looked around in amazement. Sam walked straight to a computer console, and Steve walked after him. He was amused that Sharon followed him closely, though her eyes looked everywhere but at him. He knew better than to think she was intimidated, though Sam’s underground base - one of many - certainly seemed to have discombobulated her.

Sam’s fingers clacked quietly across the keys as he pulled up security footage from the restaurant and back alley. “It goes without saying that if you publish anything about this, Sharon, I’m buying out the paper and firing you. You know that, right?”

Her attention was commanded by video footage of Steve’s fight against the man in the restaurant. Steve looked from her rapt expression to the fight on screen, and for the first time in a long time felt self-conscious. Steve had grown up losing fights; it wasn’t until the experiments that he’d started winning them. He didn’t have the moves that Sam did. Nor the man in the kitchen, as it turned out. The man had been trained and stronger than Steve had expected; it hadn’t been an easy fight for him. He wished he hadn’t run out of the restaurant so quickly, that he’d checked to make sure the man would stay down or at least try and find out more about him. Of course Sam would have kept her safe, he’d just thought-

Sam repeated himself, and both Sharon and Steve blinked at him.

“Right,” Sharon said slowly. “But with the falling circulation, that might be the best way to keep us in business.”

Sam turned to glare at her. “Don’t publish this.”

Sharon’s features fell. “I won’t.” After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke again. “So what _are_ you? Are you Captain Americ- Steve’s sidekick?”

Steve hoped he never forgot the expression on Sam’s face for as long as he lived.

“I am _not_ a sidekick.”

Steve cleared his voice. “He just helps me out from time to time.” He looked wickedly at Sharon and added in a stage whisper, “And does what I tell him.” He was relieved to see her grin.

Sam scowled. “Just because I’m not as fast as you, you’ve gotta tell her lies like that.”

“So you’re not a sidekick,” Sharon agreed. “But what are you?” She pointed at the display across the room. “Because most billionaires don’t have things like _that_ in basements scattered around the city. I’m assuming you have more than one of these. You do, right? Like, a main place that has more than a computer and a weird... whatever that is in a display case.” She frowned. “Are you sure it’s safe for the buildings above us? How much did building this damage the bedrock?”

“It’s fine, Sharon. I didn’t build this place so that building would crash through the ceiling.” Sam looked over to the costume against the far wall. It was little more than a jetpack with wings and a bullet resistant suit, but he suspected that he saw more to it than the other two. “Back when I was in the army, Riley and I worked on the Falcon project. I got back home, bought out the military contractors who built the thing. Kept it going. Not supposed to have it, obviously. Which is why I don’t want it getting out that I’ve still got it. Why I don’t want news of _any_ of this getting out.”

Sharon glared at him, knowing the dig was meant for her. “I’m not going to sell you out, Sam!” Steve cleared his throat, and she turned her glare to him. “Not you, either. You think I don’t know what’ll happen to you both if everyone finds out who you are and what you do?” She paused, and Steve hung his head. He _had_ been worried that Sharon would write an exposé about him, and now that he realized it, he realized she never would have done that. He felt something akin to shame, though it disappeared at her next words. “Besides. This way, you guys can help me on stories.” She pulled a business card from her pocket. “You can start now.”

“Where’d you get that?” Steve demanded, even though he had the horrible feeling that he knew. 

“Picked Batroc’s pockets,” Sharon said, giving the exact answer he’d expected. He wished she wouldn’t sound so smug about it. She handed the card to Sam. “I take it you can find out whose number that is? I never thought Steve might be Captain America because he’s still learning how to google. But your computer is... bigger.” She paused, repeated the words silently to herself, then closed her eyes and sighed.

Sam ignored her and took the card between two careful fingers, looking it over before nodding. “I can tell more than that. There are drinks in the mini-fridge. Help yourselves while I show you where Captain Brawn here gets his brains.”

* * *

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Sharon asked quietly. Over an hour had passed while Sam studied the card. In that time, Sharon and Steve had helped themselves to drinks as directed, Steve had changed clothes, and Sharon had forced herself to be quiet as long as she could. It was only the smart thing to do, she thought, seeing as how Sam glowered at them whenever they made any noise at all. But she hadn’t gotten to be the reporter she was by staying quiet.

“I thought about it,” Steve admitted. Like her, he kept his tone low. He didn’t want to bother Sam when he was trying to find out who was after Sharon; he himself could only protect her so much. “Sometimes. When you’d show up at crime scenes waving a recorder in my face. When you’d nearly get killed because you were involved in something dangerous.” He ignored her snort of derision. “When you’d get angry at me for disappearing when something big happened. Whenever I had to pretend to be afraid to explain why I wasn’t around. I could see that you hated it. Hated me for it.”

Neither of them needed Sam’s glower to lapse into an uncomfortable silence. 

“I didn’t hate you because of that,” she murmured.

He glanced at her in surprise. He’d known she’d hated him when they’d first met. Knew she hated him whenever she thought he’d bested her on a story. But it was the way she’d looked at him when he’d thought he was a coward that had stung the most. He couldn’t imagine what else he could have done to earn her disdain.

Her eyes fell, and then after a moment to admonish herself for her apparent weakness, lifted her eyes to meet his gaze with full force. He barely suppressed his grin. He’d long admired how she could never keep her head down for long and always, in the end, met everything head-on. “I hated you because you were better than I was.”

He blinked at her. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that had definitely never occurred to him.

She frowned and squirmed in her seat. “I was the star reporter before you showed up. And then you came out of nowhere and I had to fight for every big story I got. I- at first, I hated it. I’ve never been... adaptable, like Natasha. I have too much of a temper. I’m brash and abrasive and stubborn and a hell of a lot of people told me that I piss off too many people to be a good reporter. They told me I was too pretty and too soft, and I had to fight for every damn story I got and do three times as well as everyone else to prove I deserved it. And it got... easy after a while. I got lazy. I was doing good enough, and I stopped trying to do better.” She pushed some hair out of her face as if irritated it would try to obscure her vision in the first place. “That’s why I hated you. You showed up, and you were competition. Eventually, I realized that I would just have to push myself to prove I was better than you. Which I did, by the way.”

Steve smirked. “Humility. From you. That’s different.”

She glared at him. “I’ve never had to steal a story off your desk,” she pointed out.

He groaned. “That again? I already told you-”

“You peeked. You used your damn superpowers to peek.” She crossed her arms. “You probably thought it was too dangerous for me and decided to cut me off before I could get hurt.”

He didn’t respond, and she hmphed. She didn’t seem to get much satisfaction out of being right, though.

“I can fight my own fights, Steve. My aunt made sure I could defend myself.”

“Never said you couldn’t, Sharon.”

“No, you just _showed_ that you thought I was incapable.” She leaned forward and stuck her finger in his face. “Never do it again. Do you hear me? Never. Again.”

A shadow fell over them, and though neither of them looked, each of them knew it was Sam. They shut up as quickly as chastised children. “If you two are done arguing, we have a location.”

* * *

“Falcon-mobile,” Sharon suggested. There was a hint of strain in her voice; the car Sam drove them in hadn’t been made for more than one person, and the three of them were squeezed in, with Sharon sitting awkwardly in Steve’s lap, her back against Sam’s shoulder. Steve was pressed so tightly against the door to give Sam and Sharon room that Sharon was half-afraid he’d fall out. 

“Don’t call it that,” Sam said firmly.

“Falcar?” Steve’s voice sounded just as strained as hers, and she longed to grin at him but didn’t dare. All the embarrassing things she had thought and said around Captain America were now fresh in her mind, especially now that she could feel far too many of his muscles for her comfort. What she wouldn’t give to go back in time and stop herself from that time she’d asked about the tight costume. No, earlier than that. The time she’d asked what gym he went to. Right. Wait, no. When she’d first met him and asked if he was single. For God’s sake. What had she been thinking?

Maybe Fury was right, and she should take a vacation. Find a nice little story in South America or Europe. Her aunt had always loved Paris. Maybe she’d go there. Maybe somewhere farther away. If Steve couldn’t travel to other planets, maybe she could go there. Could she afford a trip to Mars on a reporter’s salary? Maybe if she said it was for work...

Sam spared them each a look. “You’re feeling uncomfortable with each other and taking it out on me. I understand that. But you both have to understand one thing. You are _not_ naming my car.” His grip tightened on the wheel as he turned his attention back to the road. Then, under his breath, “It’s name is Nomad.”

“What was that?” Steve asked.

“You’re not naming my car!” Sam slammed on the breaks, and only Steve tightening his grip on Sharon kept her from hitting the dashboard. “We’re here.”

Steve and Sharon peered out the window.

“Are you sure?” Sharon asked. “This is my place.”

The door popped open, and Sam reached over to shove Sharon out. “I’m sure. Now go upstairs and stay out of it!”

“What-”

The door slammed shut behind her, and Sam peeled off as Sharon shouted after them down the street.

“Was that really necessary?” Steve asked.

Sam shook his head. “You sure do know how to pick ‘em, Rogers.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sharon gaped after the car. The car that, now that she could see it from behind, looked decidedly cheap and ugly. And noticeably smaller by the millisecond.

She growled and pulled out her cell phone, pressing the speed dial as she marched up the steps to her apartment.

“Darling,” the familiar, dulcet voice greeted almost immediately. “You’re not still at work, are you? Not after I told Steve to make sure you left at a reasonable time.”

“No,” Sharon said, trying not to sound like she was pouting. As much as she loved Natasha, she didn’t love the feeling that people were babysitting her. “I’ve just been forcibly dropped off. If I get cleaned up, any chance I can join you?”

Natasha was quiet for several seconds too long. “You don’t like the parties I attend.”

“I like parties like the one you’re currently attending,” Sharon insisted, letting herself into her apartment and making a beeline to her closet. “I have some information you might want,” she wheedled. “We can help each other out.”

“Hmm... I _do_ like it when you try to manipulate me. It’s adorable.”

Sharon scowled, and Natasha laughed.

“Fine, fine. I’ll let James know, and he’ll make arrangements. Find me as soon as you get here. If we’re going to help each other, we may as well do it properly.” There was another pause. “And wear the dress I got you. The one you’ve been avoiding wearing. That means it doesn’t have holes or dirt all over it.”

It was also the nicest dress Sharon owned, and she was currently attempting to pull off her clothes with one hand and pull on the dress at the same time. Getting ready for a swanky party like the ones Natasha attended was going to take some work. “Trying,” Sharon grated, “but it’s hard to change with one hand.”

“Practice, darling.” Without further ado, Natasha hung up and left Sharon to change.

* * *

“I can use my press credentials to get in,” Steve suggested as he studied the building from the rooftop across the street. “And you can get in as, well. You.”

Sam shook his head. “After the fight earlier, your cover is blown. Maybe mine, too. Our best bet is to go in as ourselves.” 

Steve turned to frown at him. “As our other selves, you mean.”

Sam paused. “Right. Our other selves. See? This is why I’m in therapy.”

“You need to schedule an emergency appointment when we’re done here.” Steve turned back to the building and cursed under his breath. He recognized the person getting out of the taxi. It didn’t matter that her hair was glossier than before or that she usually avoided wearing dresses and heels because they might get in the way of tracking down a lead.

Sam was at his side in an instant. He uttered a curse of his own as Bucky greeted Sharon outside the door and led her inside. “Fine. As ourselves.”

“You’d better mean the ‘ourselves’ I think you mean,” Steve said, already headed for the stairwell.

* * *

“Darling! You’re finally here!” Natasha grasped Sharon’s hands and leaned in to give her a kiss on either cheek. With her face turned from Senator Brandt, she whispered, “I don’t suppose you’d pretend to be a call girl for me, would you?”

Sharon’s lips twisted in a wry grin. “That’s never worked for me, Natasha.”

“But it amuses me,” Natasha countered.

Sharon rolled her eyes. “I need you to help me with-”

“Me, first. Once we take care of Brandt, we can get some alone time. Remember to touch his leg. It’ll distract him from... other things.” She leaned in to kiss Sharon’s cheek again, likely to hide Sharon’s expression of disgust, then turned around and pushed Sharon toward Senator Brandt.

“Well, hey there!” Sharon exclaimed in a thick Southern accent, catching herself against the senator’s knee as Natasha had directed. He gave her a drunken salute with his glass of bourbon as Natasha wrapped her arms around him from behind.

“This is my friend Irma,” Natasha murmured in Brandt’s ear. “She’s very good at what she does.”

His hand went to Sharon’s wrist, trapping it against his chest. “Reporter for The Shield,” he said, glaring at Sharon with glassy eyes. There was only a hint of a slur in his voice. Sharon looked to Natasha, who gave a slight nod. “You two think I won’t recognize a pair of reporters with nice ti-”

Sharon leaned forward and pressed her elbow to his neck. She pushed the rest of her body against his legs until they went still. Once she was sure it wasn’t an act, she straightened and watched as Natasha ran her hands over Brandt one last time before giving her and Bucky a nod.

“Our friend had too much to drink,” Natasha told the bartender. She looped her arm through Sharon’s and headed out of the room as the bartender looked at Brandt in distaste.

“Get what you were looking for?” Sharon asked.

“Sure did.” She held up Brandt’s key. “He’s old school. Generally, I like that sort of thing.” A man stepped into the elevator as the doors slid open; Natasha graced him with a brilliant smile. “Mind giving us this one? Please?”

The man blinked at her, then at Sharon, then at their low-cut dresses. He looked back to Natasha with a stupid grin on his face and moved out of the elevator so fast he nearly fell.

“Thank you,” Natasha told him sweetly. She led Sharon into the elevator, and Bucky followed with a glare for the starry-eyed man who continued to watch Natasha as the doors closed. As soon as they were alone and Bucky nodded at her, Natasha’s saccharine smile disappeared. “Now what do you need, Sharon?”

“Some people tried to kill me today. I think they were sent by Hydra.”

Natasha ran her eyes over Sharon to reassure herself that Sharon was all right. No further comment or action about the murder attempt followed. Instead, she turned her attention to the problem at hand. “Hydra?”

“Roxxon’s science division. I think they’re financing a program to-” Sharon pursed her lips. “Okay, okay. Full disclosure. You know how people told me to drop the Captain America story?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. The elevator doors opened, and Bucky stepped out to make sure the coast was clear. At his nod, Natasha led the way down the hall. “No one expected you to drop it, Sharon. You don’t drop things.” She spotted Brandt’s office door and bent to study the lock. Bucky took his post beside her as her lookout.

Sharon frowned. “That makes me sound- They don’t even believe it a little? Even when I say I’m dropping it?”

Natasha smirked and slid the key in the lock. “Nope. You’re too damn stubborn to drop things. You run in like a bull in a china shop. A bull too blind to find an exit.”

“Hey,” Sharon muttered, slightly offended.

“You do, darling. Don’t worry. It’s a good quality for a reporter. But we can talk about that later. What were you saying about Roxxon and Captain America?”

Sharon immediately straightened her shoulders, glad that they were no longer discussing her faults. What had gotten into the water today, anyway? First Steve, then Natasha. Good thing she had work to focus on. “I think they’re creating more of them. I want to sneak into a Hydra facility and find proof. But I need to actually find one first. I had a phone number, but... things happened.”

Natasha grinned and pushed open the door. “They tend to, with you.” She slipped into the room, and Sharon followed, Bucky on her heels.

“We don’t have long before Brandt’s bodyguards realize Brandt isn’t really drunk,” Bucky said. He pulled on gloves and opened a drawer in the desk. He began photographing the contents.

Sharon went to a filing cabinet in the corner and thumbed through the folders. 

Natasha went straight to the safe and pressed her ear to it. “So you want help finding evidence,” she murmured softly, continuing the conversation from before.

Sharon nodded. “I need evidence if I’m going to break the story. I just have to find a Hydra facility to break into first.” She frowned at them both. “What am I looking for, exactly?”

The safe swung open, and Natasha rifled through its contents. “Payoffs from Roxxon. I’m going to prove Brandt’s been taking bribes and pin him to the wall.”

“Got it.” Sharon returned to the folders. “Do you really think you’ll find evidence he’s crooked here? Shouldn’t you be looking in the bedroom? You know he’s got to have at least three mistresses.”

“They didn’t know anything. They don’t even know about each other. And if I _don’t_ find anything here tonight, I’m going to enjoy calling each of them tomorrow and getting all their names wrong.” She leaned into the safe and made a curious sound, coming back up with blocks of cash in her hands. 

Sharon plucked a folder from the cabinet and opened it. “That’s the spirit,” she muttered absently, no longer paying attention. Her eyes roved over the papers.

Natasha threw a block of cash at her.

James frowned and lowered his camera. “Anybody hear that?” And then, quick as a flash, he pocketed the SD card from the camera and switched it with another. “Footsteps too heavy to be anything but guards.”

Sharon stared at the folder in her hands, looked for her purse, then looked at her cleavage.

Natasha sighed. “Give it here,” she whispered, closing the safe and reaching for it. 

Sharon shoved the folder at her and kicked the block of money under the desk just as the door opened.

“Hi, boys,” Natasha drawled. “Nice-sized office space here. You know how much it costs to rent something like this? I’ve been looking for a satellite office.”

One of the guards lifted a gun, and the three of them lifted their hands in the air. 

“Neighborhood’s going downhill anyway,” Natasha muttered.

* * *

“You see her yet?” Steve asked again, craning his neck. He was tall enough to see over most of the people in attendance but still couldn’t see Sharon’s familiar blonde hair or Natasha’s familiar red.

“Maybe I should have left her in the bunker,” Sam muttered. “Don’t get me wrong, Steve. I like her. When she’s not being a pain in the ass.”

Steve couldn’t argue against that. As much as he admired Sharon’s intrepid reporting, he hated how often it got her in trouble. His eye was drawn to the kitchen door, where two bodyguards were hauling away an unconscious Senator Brandt. He nudged Sam with his elbow. “We know where they’ve been.”

Sam stared after the bodyguards, but Steve knew him well enough to see that Sam’s eyes were faintly absent as he did calculations. “Brandt has an office upstairs. How much you wanna bet Natasha’s looking for something up there?”

“Probably dragged Sharon with her,” Steve agreed.

Sam shook his head. “They need to not get along so well.”

They rode the elevator up. Steve heard the faint whine of a recording device and slumped, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Bucky’s with them. That’s something. He can fight. And Sharon and Natasha both know self-defense, too.”

“Not enough to deal with Suspenders or Batroc. Not alone.”

Steve bit the inside of his cheek. He knew Sam was right. He also knew that Sharon and Natasha wouldn’t care if they could win; they’d fight regardless. And that could get them hurt or worse. 

The elevator dinged. The elevator doors opened, and Steve found himself staring at Sharon’s shoe. He leapt forward; Sam passed him. “Not in the office,” Sam said. He ran down the hall to the stairwell. “Not there, either. Steve...”

Steve picked up the shoe and raised his eyes to Sam. His anger was mounting. He had no doubt that Sharon had run into trouble, and if anyone had hurt her...

If Sam saw how angry he was becoming, he didn’t say. Instead, he inclined his head to the stairwell. “Come on.”

* * *

“What the hell am I hitting?” Sharon demanded, bumping it with her head again. Her hands were tied behind her back, as were Natasha’s and Bucky’s. The three had been loaded into the trunk in a somewhat organized manner, but through the various speeds and turns the car had made, they were now in a hopeless jumble.

“That,” Natasha said calmly, “would be my ass.”

Sharon immediately wrenched her head backward, hitting something that wasn’t Natasha, and wasn’t bone, either.

Bucky grunted. “Not my ass,” he gasped.

“For fuck’s sake,” Sharon muttered. “Okay. We seriously need to get out of here, and until we do, I’m going to go sit in the corner.” She felt a pang of guilt at continuing to investigate despite Steve and Sam’s wishes, but it was brief. They had no right to tell her she couldn’t investigate. And besides, it wasn’t as if she was dead yet, anyway. She tried to roll over, only for Bucky to grunt again. “Sorry!”

“This isn’t the level of comfort I’ve grown accustomed to in regards to kidnapping, either,” Natasha said consolingly. “James, do you have yours undone yet?”

“Almost.”

“Scoot closer. I’ll help you. Sharon, you stay there so neither James nor I get hurt.”

Sharon rolled her eyes and tried to scoot out of Bucky’s way. “Just see if I ever get kidnapped with you guys ag- _Crap!_ ” The car braked sharply, and Sharon’s head bounced off the side of the car.

“You’d better not be dead, Carter,” Natasha grated.

Sharon looked toward the sound of her voice instantly. A last name instead of a term of endearment? Not a good sign. “You okay?”

“Peachy. James?”

“Almost got it.”

Before Sharon could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, the trunk opened, and a hand grabbed her ankle, wrenching her forward. She kicked with her other foot and heard someone grunt.

“Go,” Natasha ordered, already jumping out of the car. Bucky followed, his wrists free and his fists flying. Sharon watched as Natasha spun and dropped a man on the ground; obviously, Sharon had underestimated Natasha’s dance training. She’d never seen a beat-down so graceful. By contrast, Bucky was brutal, hitting each man like they had made an inappropriate pass at his mother in church.

One man tried to sneak up behind him, and Sharon stepped into the fray, kicking the back of the man’s knees before elbowing him in the face. Not for nothing had her military aunt given her lessons in self-defense when she’d been younger. She’d only just moved on to the next man before something grabbed her from behind and squeezing her. She made a strangled cry and heard a deep chuckle in her ear. Batroc, still wearing purple and orange sprang past her, going straight for Natasha. He evaded both Natasha’s hits and Bucky’s with ease. One punch left Natasha stunned. Bucky shouted in rage and alarm, and Sharon felt something hard pressed against her temple.

She sighed. She’d been through this enough that she knew what it was.

“Quiet now,” the person holding her ordered, “or we’ll kill this one and then move on to the redhead.”

Sharon frowned. “If you were going to kill us, you would have alre-” He squeezed again as he lifted her off her feet. She gasped for breath, and by the time her vision cleared, she saw that Natasha’s hands and ankles had been cuffed, and she was carried by the man in purple and orange. Bucky had been cuffed the same way, but he was being dragged along on the floor by some of the men.

The man carrying her followed them.

“Got a name, Suspenders?” she asked him.

“Sure do. It’s ‘Shut the Fuck Up.’”

She grunted as he jostled her. “I’ll be sure to attribute quotes to Shut the Fuck Up, then. Do you care to comment on the current situation? Maybe the state of the economy? Is Beyonce a great artist, or the greatest artist?”

He chuckled. “See that-” And then he was stumbling, crushing her against a wall. She heard a familiar clanging sound move down the hall, and for a moment, she was so happy and relieved that she didn’t even care that the man had moved his gun to under her chin. Captain America was here. Steve was here.

She’d be angry at him later for storming in and saving her when she obviously had the situation under control. 

The man holding her swung her around, using her as a shield. “Now listen up! One more move, and I blow her brains out!”

Sharon knew that he was wearing protection on his chest, and his boots were military cut; even if she stomped on his foot with her heel, it would only do so much damage. She met Steve’s eyes as he caught the shield and sized up the situation. Her eyes narrowed. 

That was the only warning Steve got before Sharon kicked behind her, her heel connecting with the man’s knee. His leg crumpled, a bullet flying past her cheek with a deafening crack. She spun, kneeing him, but as they tumbled sideways, she missed and hit his bulletproof vest instead. She struck out at him, hitting his mask with the heel of her hand right on his nose. The force was enough to knock his head back, but before she could press her advantage, someone grabbed her from behind. 

About to fight the other person, she realized that the person was setting her carefully on her feet. She turned to find Steve looking down at her, saying something she could barely hear

“What?”

He repeated himself, though she still couldn’t catch much of it. Something about safety...

As if she was having any of _that._ She was a reporter, damn it.

She pointed at the man on the ground, then gave Steve a thumbs-up. “You keep him busy!” she shouted. She turned down the hall where the man had been taking her and the others. There had to be something good this way, she reasoned.

She only hesitated to grab Bucky’s camera from where one of the guards had dropped it on the floor, and then she was off. Steve would be able to handle this; she had a story to chase down.

* * *

“James!” Natasha shouted. One of the guards had his gun aimed at James, but he was too busy wrestling with another to notice, and she was too far away to reach him. The goons had taken her pistol.

They were _not_ going to take James away, too.

Natasha vaulted over one of the goons’ backs, tearing off one of her shoes and launching it at the man. It bounced off a wing, no, something that _had_ wings. A man with wings. Gone as soon as he appeared, taking the man who’d attacked James with him.

She stared, barely aware of James rushing toward her and punching someone over her shoulder. A _wing?_

James shook her shoulders. “Natasha? Natasha!”

She gaped at him. “Did you- did you see that?”

“See what?

A man with wings who had flown right past them and may have just saved James’ life.

She cleared her throat. Unbelievable. Maybe she’d take some vacation when she got back to work. “Where’s Sharon?”

“She grabbed my camera and went-”

They both fell back as someone crashed between them. Natasha turned, her head following the red, white, and blue blur.

“That way, I’m guessing,” she said slowly. She started running, knowing that James would follow.

* * *

Sharon ignored the sounds of fighting at her back, ducking into a doorway when she heard someone coming. It didn’t take long to spot the fanciest, most expensive doorway in the place and figure out where to go. If there were answers in this place, she was looking for either a lab or the boss’s office. She had to dodge several more security guards on the way, but she hadn’t been raised in a military family for nothing. Though she was sure they would rather she had become a soldier or a spook, she’d managed to do just as much good as everyone by amending the family motto to her own needs - The story is all that counts.

She slipped into the office and closed the door silently behind her. Exhaling and listening to the silence for several seconds, she realized that not everything was completely silent. She heard a faint clinking sound and turned to find a man in black swirling ice in his glass. She gaped at him. His head was red, as if the skin had been pulled away to reveal the blood and muscle underneath. He had no lips; what little there was of his ears was knotted and bloody, like the blood had clotted more where his ears ought to be. He was a horror film come to life.

He inclined his head to her, his drink in one hand, a gun in the other. A horror film masquerading as a Bond villain, then. “Sharon Carter, I presume.”

She swallowed thickly before her instincts kicked in. “I have some questions for you.”

He stared at her. “You are mistaken. I am the one who will be asking the questions.”

Sharon pulled her notepad from her pocket, her hand trembling until she tightened her grip on it. She waved it to make sure he saw it and forced a bright smile before clicking her pen. “I’m the one with the notepad, pal. First off, I’ve got to get your name for quotes, and then we’ll go into why your goon tried to kill me earlier tonight.”

He pulled a gun from his pocket and aimed it at her face to make sure she saw it. “Again. I will be the one asking the questions. What is your relationship with this Captain America?”

She coughed. “Re- Re-” _lationship?_ Her and- Her cheeks colored, and she glared at him. To think she would- with Steve! And- Okay, she could see how someone might think that with her and Captain America, given that time she got caught on the evening news telling Steve how little the suit hid- Oh, _God._ She’d forgotten that. Oh, _God._

“Is it true you’re trying to create more people like him?”

The man looked to his gun, then back at Sharon. She swallowed at how even his eyelids were red. “How well do you know Captain America?” he demanded. “He has rescued you in the past. Would he do so again?”

“How well do _you_ know Cap- Wait.” She glared at him. She wasn’t going to be drawn into his silly and immature games, talking about relationships and how well she knew Captain America. She ignored the sounds of a fight getting closer, including the clang of a shield as it bounced off walls. She had to get as much information out of this guy as she could before he was arrested and taken away. And what was this about her needing to be rescued? She didn’t need to be rescued. Just... shoved out of the way of bullets sometimes. “Can you admit that you hired someone to kidnap me?”

“Do not flatter yourself, fraulein. I only wanted to trap Captain America. And in that, you have already served your purpose.” He raised his gun, and Sharon held up a finger. 

“I still have questions.”

His only answer was to aim at her head, and she took a step closer. Guns, she remembered her aunt saying, were limited weapons. In the right hands, they were could be extremely effective at a distance. Without that distance, there was a risk of the gun’s owner losing the gun. She wasn’t the master of martial arts her aunt was, having gone into a different field, but she was gambling that she knew the basics. 

She threw up her arm, knocking his arm and the gun out of the way, then moved in close to knee him in the groin. 

He blocked her, his hand moving faster than she could catch, and he leered at her as he grabbed her around the neck with his other hand. She scrambled to tear his fingers from her throat and kicked at his shins with her bare feet. Desperate for air, she didn’t register what the cold spot against her forehead was until she saw the blurry outline of the man holding a gun to her head.

Something hard hit her, and she suddenly found herself pressed against the wall, staring into Steve’s blue eyes as bullets pinged off the shield on his back. 

“You okay?” he asked.

How had she never recognized those eyes before? She’d been so close to him, so many times, when he’d been wearing a mask and when he hadn’t. How had she never realized? She’d been an idiot. A blind idiot.

Wait. Think about that later. There’s a story. She shook her head, rousing herself. “Keep him busy. I’m going to find evidence.”

The best she could say was that Steve looked decidedly bemused by her response. Thankfully, she was saved from another argument by Steve turning to deflect a blow. Sharon slid behind him and hurried to the desk, pulling open drawers as Steve pushed the man with the red, skull-like face away with the shield. Ooooooh. That would make a wonderful name for him in the paper. Red Skull. Could she name him? Why not? She’d named Captain America. 

“You will die, Herr Captain!” the Red Skull shouted. He steadied himself and glared at Steve, the gun still in his grip. “You will be dissected, and the secrets of Erskine’s formula will be revealed!”

Sharon’s head popped up, and Steve froze. 

“What did you-” Steve’s question was cut off as the man shot him, and Steve rolled to the side to draw the gunfire away from Sharon, who quickly returned to searching the desk.

“Already, my men have disposed of your associates. How you behave now will decide whether or not you watch Frau Carter die, or whether you die first!”

“You talk a lot,” Steve griped.

“Frau?” Sharon’s head popped up again. “Did he just call me ‘Frau?’ Cap. Punch him.” She dropped down hastily as the Red Skull’s gun turned toward her once more.

A familiar figure clad in gray swept into the room, kicking the Red Skull against the far wall. “Someone call for an ass-kicking?”

Sharon grabbed a briefcase and started shoving files inside. “Good timing.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Help me get him to the authorities. We have to get Ms. Carter out, too.”

Sam strode toward the Red Skull and dragged the man to his feet; the Red Skull wobbled and stayed upright. “Everyone else here is down for the count. Cops are on their way. Those two reporters were following me. I say we take care of this guy, and Sharon will be fine.”

“Wait!” Sharon shouted, clutching the briefcase to her chest. “The cops won’t let me keep the files. If I give them to you-” Her eyes narrowed at Steve. No. He’d read them first and beat her to another story. “Never mind. I’ll share the information with the cops.”

Steve beamed at her. “Good. Falcon?” Without warning, Steve ran to a window and burst through using his shield. Sam, carrying the Red Skull, followed after.

Sharon didn’t have long to wait before Natasha and Bucky ran into the room. They each had found guns somewhere, and Sharon decided it was better not to ask why they had picked up knives as well.

“You okay, darling?” Natasha asked, her eyes roving around the room.

“Never better,” she said quickly. “Now help me smuggle out these files before the cops come.”

* * *

“CARTER!”

The newsroom went still, silent save for the printer and two phones ringing. Across from Steve, Sharon jumped and quickly spun in her seat. “Sarge?”

“This officer tells me you used information you found at a crime scene to publish that story of yours. That true?”

Sharon looked from Fury to the officer and back. “I don’t know what to say, Sarge. Honest. I never read anything at that place that went into the story.”

Her expression was far too innocent, and Steve had a sinking feeling in his gut. That meant Sharon had taken the files elsewhere to read them.

And Fury seemed to know it, too. Turning away from the officer, he winked at Sharon - though it was hard to tell with the eyepatch, Steve was still pretty sure it was a wink - and said, “I wouldn’t expect anything less from my reporters.”

Officer Coulson grumbled. “I still think-”

“We can talk about whatever you think as I walk you down to the lobby.” Fury’s voice didn’t allow any argument. “Unless you want to wait around for our lawyers to join us?”

Once they were out of sight, Steve found Sharon’s foot under the desk and gave it a shove.

She grimaced and glared at him. “What?”

“Those files could contain evidence, Sharon.”

She made a face. “I already sent a courier around with them, Steve. I’m not going to stand in the way of an investigation that I fully intend to report on.”

He watched her, stone-faced, as she focused on her monitor again.

Natasha appeared a second later, perching on the edge of Sharon’s desk. “Commendable story, darling. A homegrown terrorist organization in our own backyard obsessed with becoming some sort of enhanced... whatever. Nicely done.”

Sharon beamed, and Steve wondered if she realized how much smugness she radiated. “And you, too, Natasha. You’re the only person I know who can take down a corrupt senator in four hours. Although if you don’t mind my asking, now that we have a minute, where did you and Bucky learn to-”

“Weird, isn’t it?” Natasha interrupted. “I could have sworn there was someone at the facility other than your patriotic piece of pie, Sharon. I thought I saw someone, actually.” She watched Sharon’s face carefully. “Dark clothes? Flying, maybe?”

Sharon stared at Natasha, and Steve could see her fighting the urge not to look at Steve. “Flying?” she asked, voice uncertain. She looked to her computer monitor. “Natasha. People don’t fly.” She frowned. “And if they did, I’m pretty sure I’d be writing about it.”

What? What was Sharon working on?

Steve cleared his throat. “What are you working on now?”

She rolled her eyes. “Orphanage story. I said I’d get it done, didn’t I?”

Natasha scrutinized Sharon for several seconds longer before getting to her feet again. “Fine, fine. I’ll find out some other way. I love when you try to hide things from me. It makes things much more fun.”

Neither of them moved again until Natasha was out of sight. They looked at each other and, as if on cue, took a deep breath.

“Pie _does_ sound good,” Sharon muttered, eyes still on him.

He made a face. “Having just been compared to a piece of pie...”

Her eyes widened. “No! I didn’t mean- That’s not what I- I just meant, I could use a break, and pie sounds good.” She hit a couple keys and glanced at him uncertainly. “I’ll pay if you give this a lookover?”

He leaned back in his seat, almost flattered. “You’d let _me_ look over your story? Aren’t you worried I’ll steal it from you?”

“I think if you were going to steal it from me, you would have done it as soon as Fury started hassling me about it. Leila’s?”

Steve’s face fell. “Seriously?”

She shrugged. “I might have a lead on that Erskine guy the Red Skull mentioned.” Red Skull. Why did she have to name him _that?_ Though... what else _could_ she have named him? “And Leila makes great pie. Though if you want to call someone to join us...”

Steve rolled his eyes and stood to get his coat. “I think you’ll have to pay for the three of us, then.”

Sharon gave a long-suffering sigh. It was somewhat ruined by the grin she gave him. “The things I do for the story.”


End file.
